


A Story About Jean Kirschtein

by 7th_Strongest



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: I don't know what I'm doing, I had an idea and I did the thing, I'll add characters as they show up???, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7th_Strongest/pseuds/7th_Strongest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are two youths growing up in Night Vale after being dropped off in separate (unexplainable?) but similar circumstances.<br/>(Rated T... For now. No knowledge of Night Vale needed, some things might just seem stranger.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Night Vale

**Author's Note:**

> What is sticking to one tense. Please forgive me, my story writing is terrible, I'm an essay writer OTL I guess enjoy if you want to? A beta'er whatever that it might be useful... Haha.

Welcome to Night Vale

                Everything was normal in Night Vale. At least, Jean thought it was. Neither he nor his parent knew exactly how they got there, but by some force (whether natural or unnatural in nature is still in question) they were compelled to stay. They seemed to be literally thrown into the city when Jean was about eight. Needless to say, the first thing he said upon arrival was: “God _damn it_. It’s hot as balls.” This earned him a swift hit to the back of the head from his mother. Neither of them remembered where they came from, or why they were sitting in the middle of the desert on the outskirts of a small city, surrounded by several bags of luggage. But hey, they had to make do with what they had.

                Luckily for them, they ran into an old woman, whom upon seeing the family wondering through town struggling with their suitcases (Jean especially considering was, you know, eight), began screeching something about prophecies and the angels telling her so. While the entire situation was a tad bit insane, it was lucky for them since the old woman, Josie as they would find out, offered up her home to them. On the way there she went on and on about angels and how the family could stay as long as they needed.

                During the whole ordeal, Jean kept his facial expression fairly constant, stuck somewhere between disinterest, blasé, and annoyance. Which, honestly, was probably the expression he wore since birth (when he wasn’t completely overtaken with anger or violent crying fits, that is). He simply trudged along like a little solider, secretly scared out of his britches to say anything in fear that his mother would knock the wind out of him. It wasn’t until they were gathered in the old woman’s living room that he became responsive.

                Jean was staring out the living room window, studying the car lot and the little trailer situated next to it when he heard an abrasive, “I said, boy, what is your name.” The old woman wheezed out, not quite yelling at him, but not sounding pleased that she had to repeat herself. “Jean…” He started, looking at his mother’s look of disapproval. He opened his mouth to continue when their hostess screeched on, “Well! Jean, you can just call me Old Woman Josie. Everyone here does.” Then, mistaking Jean’s confused expression for one of fright she continued, “Don’t you worry your two toned little head, boy. I’ll make sure the angels watch over you. Have you met them, yet? The black one changed my light bulb.” She yammered on for a few more minutes about angels, lead, and something about a draw bridge? Weren’t they in the middle of the desert?

                At the moment, Jean’s father was not present. Not that Jean could remember very much of his father anyways, so he didn’t feel compelled to be disappointed or scared. Why was it he couldn’t remember much of anything? Only one word rang in his head, ‘Trost’, but like hell he knew what that meant.

                The next few weeks spent at Old Woman Josie’s house were confusing and awkward. She kept saying things like, “Ah! You just missed the angels, they stepped out for a few rounds of bowling.” And then there were the news reports she would have played over the radio every single night. The man’s voice was low and cool, occasionally becoming consumed with emotion (usually about some scientist named Carlos; but also about The Desert Bluffs, a rivaling town).  But that wasn’t what creeped Jean out, what creeped him out was what the man was talking about, and why there wasn’t mass hysteria among the town. The idea of these things, along with basically everything else despite their nagging familiarity, were all new and confusing to Jean. Yet, as more and more weeks passed on by, they became the norm. Jean would walk into the bathroom and find radioactive waste pouring through the faucet? Just wait till later and try again, he’ll wash his hands eventually.

                After living with Old Woman Josie for a few months, his mother finally got a job that allowed her to rent a decent apartment near the radio broadcasting station. But not even a year later, after a (not very) freak accident involving black holes and demonic forces, their entire apartment building was demolished. The building’s debris was gone by the next day and not even the Sherriff’s Secret Police knew what had happened. Since Jean and his mother were the only survivors, they allowed them to move into the architect’s house, which was luckily fully furnished. After all, he was taken out in a bit of a hurry, someone did need to be blamed for the apartment building’s demise, and he was the only one they could shove a charge on to. The nail marks on the wall by the door were a bit unsightly, but they could always fix it.

                One day, while doing his homework at the dining room table, Jean looked over to his mother, who was cooking up dinner. “Mom, what exactly is re-education?”  He asked, he had just started middle school, and the word was always thrown around in regards to punishment for certain behaviors. His mother simply turned and stared and him, her face grim, “Do _not_ do anything that would result in re-education, Jean. If it doesn’t kill you, I will.” And that was the end of that.

                His mother’s words still rung through Jean’s head as he walked to school the next day. He fought the uphill battle in a white button down and a pair of jeans. His school did have a dress code, but it varied from student to student. In Jean’s case, he was required to wear some form of jeans every single day. He was sure it was a form of a cruel joke, but he didn’t mind. After all, some kid named Parker in his math class had to wear a parka every day. In the middle of the desert. Still, it didn’t keep him from inwardly complaining and outwardly grimacing about how balls hot it was. He was about to say something when he heard someone jog up next to him.

                He turned only his head to look at the person who decided to stop right next to him. It was some kid, a smidgen taller than him, and who had a seemingly familiar face. “Hi!” The voice started, sounding a bit out of breath. Jean raised an eyebrow, partially out of concern, and then partially out of him wanting the kid to cut to the point. He rolled his eyes as the other student held up a hand, motioning that he needed a moment to catch his breath. The first thing Jean noticed was his orange polo and khaki shorts, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the kid’s mother still dressed him. But as his eyes traveled up, they rested a bit longer than they should have on the freckles splattered across his pale face. Jean didn’t know why but they seemed kind of… Cute? No that wasn’t the word… Cute was used when one sees a girl that could possibly be crush material. Not some _boy._ Yet none the less, Jean’s mind lingered on the word ‘cute’.  He let his eyes break away from the freckles and moved on to the short black hair, perfectly parted down the middle. His bangs dancing along the thin (for a dude’s) eyebrows, below the eye brows, Jean’s eyes locked with the taller kid’s dark brown eyes. In any other circumstance they would be considered plain and ordinary, but something about them made Jean feel… Uncomfortable.

                The few seconds seemed like an eternity when the perfect haired—stop. He was starting to sound like the creepy news broadcaster dude. When the _black haired_ student finally started talking again. “My name’s Marco Bodt, you’re in my Earth Science class.” Ah, so that’s why he was familiar. “Forgive me if I’m a bit forward, but I heard you seemed to just show up outside of the city one day?” He posed it as a question, despite knowing very well it was true. But God, when he spoke Jean found it hard to actually focus on the words rather than the overall sound of his voice and after a few moments of silence he finally responded. “Yeah, and so?” he cursed inwardly, he could finally have a friend and Jean was sounding like a complete douche.

                Marco looked a bit flustered, a blush dusting his cheeks. “I…” He suddenly seemed unsure of what he was so ready to say just moments ago. Did Jean’s words really affect him so much? Jean made a mental note to punch himself in the face later. “I uhm, the same thing happened with my family about a year ago… I thought we could uhm… Talk about it or… Something.” The day was still heating up, and Jean could feel himself sweating from more than just how nervous he was. Wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, he murmured a “Sure”, and continued walking next to the boy. He hated to cut the conversation short so abruptly, but he felt like one more word and he would make Marco hate him forever. Maybe he could use this time to think about something to say to him during Earth Science later?

                In fact, Jean silently praised Josie’s angels (even though angels don’t exist) when he looked up and saw they were already practically in front of the doors to the school. Maybe Old Woman Josie’s angels were looking out for him. He held open the door for Marco, trying to redeem himself from a bit of his douche-iness, before running off to his first period class, desperate to be out of the awkward situation that was his walk to school.

                Well, he attempted to. He ended up running in the same direction as Marco, which was weird. Jean could feel the awkward piling up again. Should he slow down and walk with Marco, or just keep running along like he didn’t notice? The question was answered for him when he heard Marco’s quiet whisper, “You know, Jean… You shouldn’t run in the hallways, I heard the monitor is a Blood Pact Scout…”  That was all he had to say to stop where he was. He stood there as he waited for Marco to catch up, taking glances up and down the hallway. He felt a little safer when Marco finally began walking next to him, and as they neared the corner (of a hallway that was strangely empty, despite classes starting in five minutes, but regardless) Jean finally had the courage to say something. “My mom wanted me to join the scouts when I was younger, and I did for a few months. The whole lack of motivation thing kinda drove me out, though.” He felt a smirk start on his face when he heard the brunette’s soft-suppressed laughter. Hah. Take that universe, Jean Kirschtein got Marco to laugh, have at that.

                Until lunch, the rest of the day was rather uneventful. Parker passed out (again), Jaeger was an asshole, the Trailer Park Trio were doing their threesome make out session or whatever the frick it was  they did in the back of class all day (granted it wasn’t making out. Annie usually played her DS with Reiner and Bertholdt. Probably trading her shitty Pokémon for shinies and legendaries. Something just told Jean that she had a PC box full of Bidoofs and a heart cold enough to actually trade them to the two morons who mooned over her. Jean was not jealous that he couldn’t play Pokémon in class.) and their human-sciences teacher droned/screamed on about the biological make up of miniature people, and if there was miniature people there _had_ to be giant people. The thought unsettled Jean and he opted to doodle in his notebook the entire period.

               So the fact that something surprising and unexpected happened at lunch befuddled him. The polo-kid—Correction, Marco, came to sit next to him. Considering the fact that Jean sat at the end of the table, he was pleased to think that Sasha wouldn’t sit next to him and steal his food that day. But, another part of Jean, _flipped out_. Internally of course, Jean wasn’t some kind of dork that let all his emotions play out on his face. No way. Marco looked at him inquisitively, pursing his lips and furrowing his eyebrows just a bit, “If you don’t want me to sit he—“ Jean cut him off before he could even finish, “No! No, balls… It… It’s not that at all, I just wasn’t expecting it at all.” He cleared his throat, swearing his vocabulary would get better and he would stop using ‘balls’ every other sentence when he stopped being twelve. He still had a few good months left in him.

                Marco’s expression softened and he pulled out one of those insolated lunch boxes (lucky bastard.) He was careful to not knock into Jean’s tray full of over processed meats and a side that vaguely resembled perhaps (maybe) green beans. They very well could have been carrots, though, at second thought… Either way, Jean wasn’t going to eat them. The two boys sat there, content in their silence until Jean finally broke the quiet like before, “So, if you’ve been here for a year how come I’ve never seen you before? You seem to know a lot about me. Kinda creepy.” Marco choked on his juice box a bit, and after clearing out his throat responded hesitantly, “Well, I was homeschooled by—“ He took a bite of his sandwich and swallowed before continuing, “—By my mom, but since Mayor Pamela Winchell banned any form of education within the home, I’ve had to come here to the middle school. But they said since I was educated at home for a year, it didn’t count anymore. So, I’m a year behind.” Jean nodded, both in the fact that he was recalling the ban (which had to be revised several times so teachers could assign homework. So close.), and in an extra effort not to be a complete asshole. “And, well, when people asked about my situation, they mentioned you saying you had the same thing happen, sooooo…” He held out his “so” like a twelve year old girl, not like the (now presumably) thirteen year old boy he is. Jean made it a mini-goal to have Marco stop doing that. The “sooooo” thing, not the thirteen year old boy thing, he can’t stop that, it just kinda happens.

                The two of them sat there talking for the rest of the lunch period. They started off talking about how both of them got to Night Vale, and how neither of them had any idea as to what life was like before it. After Jean’s story about the apartment, they began drifting off into other subjects. The house that doesn’t exist but seems to, trying to list every intern the radio station had the past year, what video games they played, and of course where to buy a new blood stone, after all it was the beginning of the school year and they would be needing one for ‘You and Your Bloodstone 101’. The bell rung, and the two of them continued talking as they made their way through the halls to Earth Science. It was Jean’s second science of the day, he was pretty bright if he did say-so himself. Ms. Zoe was the teacher once again, and they got the same spheal that Jean heard earlier. He hadn’t realized it, but instead of sitting in his regular seat, he ended up sitting down next to Marco. Jean was getting a little pissed, though, how did miniature and large scale humans have anything to do with earth science? Okay, so maybe there were maybe a few ways, but still, not enough for Jean’s liking.

                Jean pretty much felt that he and Marco were friends now (ah, to be young), so he turned to tell Marco what B.S. he thought the lesson to be. He was met with the face of… How to describe it? It looked like he was caught somewhere between mid-sneeze, falling asleep, and having a stroke. Jean snorted. Immediately the red warning lights in his head went off and they were screaming, ‘backpedal! Backpedal! Backpedal faster!’ But all Jean could do was snort again as the dark haired boy was shocked out of his stupor, “Huh?” was all he managed, and Jean stifled a snort once more, causing it to come out distorted and made it sounds more like he was being strangled. He earned a momentary pause from Ms. Zoe, but eventually she just droned on once more.

                Jean lightly punched his now tomato-red friend’s arm, “Come on dude, you didn’t look _that_ stupid falling asleep.” He whispered, smirking like the pretentious little shit that he is. Marco didn’t talk to him for the rest of the period, that is until the very end when they were packing up. Jean was starting to feel bad about laughing at the freckled-fellow, so with a grunt and several exaggerated motions later he asked, “If you want to come over later and play a game or something that’d be cool, my mom wouldn’t mind.” Jean felt like he never made a better decision. Felt? No, more like he _knew_ this was the best decision, _ever._ He was so sure because Marco smiled and Jean could see his face light up as soon as the words left his mouth, “Uh, yeah! Sure, that sounds great!”

(Kirschtein: 2 Universe: 0) (More like the universe has an endless amount of points considering it makes up—well—everything in the universe. But still, in regards to the day, Jean felt like he was the one unleashing a can of whoop-ass, not the universe and life in general.)


	2. Two Dorks Hang Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks hang out and be dorks. Marco's really good at Wii Sports.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opps, this is a shortish chapter, I was aiming for around 4,000 words, but I felt like I was dragging it. Oops. I just wrote the last ~2000 words at school oh god I'm huddled in the corner of the computer lab like "no one look at me please." (More Night Vale-y things in the next chapter, I just wanted the two of them to be dorks for a while before all the nonsense started. BTW please give suggestions as to what 'classic' Night Vale items/people/topics you want to see.)

Two Dorks Hang Out

                It wasn’t long before the school day was over and Marco was following Jean to his house. (Marco going to the office to call for his mother’s permission first, of course.) Jean knew that his own mother wouldn’t mind, he rarely ever brought anyone over, and his mother had become concerned for Jean’s social life—or lack thereof.

                The only time Jean had anyone over was the occasional Sasha and Connie. Except they just ate his food and played his videos games, treating the whole ‘get together’ like some kind of date. Not that they were dating, they had this whole, “we’re-not-dating-we’re-just-really-close-and-hang-out-everyday-of-the-week-no-matter-how-many-days-this-week-might-have.” And while, yeah cool, whatever, Jean wasn’t going to criticize how they labeled their relationship… It did get on his nerves sometimes.

                It was Marco that broke his train of thought, choosing to walk beside Jean instead of behind him. “So, what kind of games do you have?” He asked, he smiling a little too widely, dimples making crevices on his face. Jean stared him down for a moment, not to be scary, but rather because he was thinking. He smirked, pleased that Marco didn’t seem at all fazed, “I don’t have some grand collection, so don’t expect much. But you know, the basics. Call of Duty, Halo, some others… Hey, I just got that Street Fighter game, too.”

                Jean didn’t know why, but all of a sudden Marco looked frazzled. Jean raised an eyebrow at him, “You okay?” Marco just rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and motioned with the other saying it was nothing and that he was just having a moment. Jean grumbled in agreement, and the two of them continued on route to his house. Having dropped the subject of games, they began talking about other things, such as classes they had, what teachers they liked, which ones they could do without, etc. With the idle chatter to keep them occupied, they arrived at Jean’s house in seemingly no time at all.

                “This is it, make yourself at home.” Jean plopped the house keys on the counter then proceeded over to the couch in the next room over. Jean’s home had a very open floor plan, not many doors, but a crap ton of arch-like-doorways that led to another room. Glancing at the digital clock on his cable box, Jean took note of the time, “My mom won’t be home for another hour and a half or so. We can play whatever we want till then. Choice is yours.” Jean wasn’t sure if Marco was the GTA kind of person, but it didn’t hurt to allude to the fact that game rating wouldn’t matter for a while.

                The taller dark haired boy had followed Jean every step of the way, not wanting to get lost in his house. Honestly he was a little intimidated by how clean and simple it was. There was a lot of white, and modern appliances, which was a stark contrast to the ‘classic’ neighborhood vibe the street gave off. He treads lightly over the carpet, leaning over Jean’s shoulder to get a better look into the (surprisingly) orderly pile of video games. Chewing on his lip he looked around the room. Jean looked back at him and couldn’t help but feel concerned. Marco had seemed all chipper and up beat just a moment ago…

                “Oh!” Marco exclaimed, his face lighting up with some sudden realization, then pointed to a dusty old Wii sitting in the corner. While Marco’s face was beaming, Jean’s dropped. No. Marco couldn’t really so excited to play Wii… Did he even still have games for that dinosaur? He could have sworn he traded them all in (and got a whopping $7). Marco walked over it, sure enough, and began to fidget, “I don’t really know how to use any other console…” He began, trying to appraise Jean’s reaction, “If you wouldn’t mind, I think I’d like to play something on it.”

                Jean was torn between being a rude asshole and getting Marco to like him. He didn’t mean to, but he stared looking rather irritated at the machine before grumbling something and looking for a game.

                Just as his luck would have it, there was one game left. He held it gingerly in his hands, like he was excavating a rare fossil. He blew the dust off the cover and held it up cautiously to Marco before asking, “Do you like Wii Sports?” Jean didn’t know why his opinion of the game changed so suddenly, nor why Marco’s stupid-smiling-freckled-face was a big factor, but now Jean couldn’t wait to play. After finding all the wires and setting the television up, Jean ran into the kitchen to get some snacks.

                “YO! MARCO.” He demanded his friend’s attention by screaming it from several rooms away, “WHAT FOOD DO YOU LIKE?” After receiving several responses (two being too quiet for Jean to hear, the others being food stuffs they didn’t have in the house) Jean finally was able to bring out some basic chips and onion dip. Honestly, if his mother hadn’t put extra dip in the fridge the day before Jean would be at a huge loss considering chips didn’t taste the same without it. Yet still, just like several times before and without fail, the simple gesture and cheap snacks were enough to elicit an ecstatic thank you from the new friend.

                After making Marco a Mii and choosing a sport to play, Jean threw Marco a mischievous glare. He could see a bead of sweat drop down as he muttered, “Jean is something on my face…?” Jean shook his head ‘no’ without breaking eye contact. “You’re going down, Creep.” Marco’s face turned bright red, his already large brown eyes opening wider, “I-I  wasn’t being creepy! Other people told me abo—“

                The deed had been done. Jean had given into his asshole tendencies and pressed start while Marco was still blabbering about how it wasn’t his fault. Marco stopped mid-sentence while Jean flicked his wrist, sending the tennis ball over the net and gaining a point. Marco’s jaw was dropped, but he soon clamped his mouth shut, looking determined as ever. “Not fair.” He muttered, ready to beat Jean by a landslide for such a trick.

                By the time the match was over, Jean had lost. He only had one point. As soon as Marco set it in his mind that he was going to win, he stopped at nothing (well, except cheating, unlike someone he knew) to ensure of his victory. Out of pity he let Jean pick the next sport, eating a few chips as he waited for his two-toned friend to pick. Jean couldn’t help but take long, though. He kept noticing how Marco ate one freaking chip at a time. He didn’t even grab a handful then eat one at a time, but he grabbed one from a bowl. Then attempted to take little princess bites out of the chip. Jean rolled his eyes, thinking what a dork, and then decided on bowling. Everyone sucked at bowling.

                Apparently everyone but Marco sucked at bowling. This was getting to point of seriously seriously not fair. Jean shifted his eyes to shoot Marco and incredulous glare. The latter let out a nervous laugh, putting his hands up in defense, “It’s pretty much the only game I have at home and my siblings make me play it with them all the time.” Then he ended with a rushed, “Pleasedon’tkillme.” A smile on his face the entire time, though. He got the vibe that Jean wasn’t challenged much (perhaps because of his scary face) and Marco couldn’t help but feel a little special putting him in his place.

                They took a break a few minutes before Jean’s mom was scheduled to come home. Jean was balancing two hot chocolates and a blanket over to the living room, followed by a persistent Marco insisting that he should help. With the grace of clumsy elephant, Jean made it to the living room and placed the drinks on the table before wrapping himself up in the blanket and letting himself fall onto the couch into a contorted sitting position. Marco sat next to him, carefully picking up the hot chocolate and taking a sip before asking a question relating to why they were drinking hot chocolate in the middle of the desert.

                “So, why _does_ your mom keep the AC on so low?” He sipped again, this time taking note of the polka-dotted mug, considering the fact that the mug could be a very poorly executed joke. With an eye-roll, Jean gestured to the house as a whole, “My mom’s still pretty worked up about the whole ‘finding a small underground city in the bowling alley’ thing, I’m pretty sure she went to Ms. Zoe for advice because next thing you know she turns the house into an ice box. Something about it slowing the metabolism of the impending army of tiny warriors. What the frick is a metabolism, anyways?”

                He could hear Marco laughing at him from the other side of the couch, it was suppressed laughter, but Jean still shot him a glare.  Marco simply waved the look away then attempted to drink again, he didn’t mind that it was still absurdly hot, but now that his body shook slightly with laughter he managed to burn his lip. He hissed and brought his other hand to his mouth, causing Jean to stop blowing on his own cup, slamming it down and going over to Marco, asking if he was okay. “Yeah I’m fine, it only got half of it, I should be fine.”

                With a grunt Jean got up, heading back into the kitchen and soaking a rag in cold water before returning to where Marco was. Without asking, he took the rag and attempted to get it on Marco’s lip without applying too much pressure. After trying twice he simply said, “Screw it.” And placed the rag over the entire right half of Marco’s face. The dark haired boy simply sputtered and attempted to get Jean’s hand off his face.

                “But why? It’s a good look for you.”

                 Jean was promptly smacked (albeit lightly) on the back of the head, and told to get back to Wii Sports. And that was how his mother found them when she got home from work, Jean yelling at Marco as he beat him by a landslide at baseball, and Marco laughing harder the more frustrated Jean got. After placing her bag on the kitchen counter, she walked into the TV room, her hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised. Jean gave her an exasperated look before motioning to Marco as a whole. No words were exchanged, but the idea was preserved. Weird mother son telepathy shit.  She gave him an expecting look, and next thing Jean said, “Marco.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

                 “Well, Marco, it’s nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Jean’s from school?” She inquired. Marco responded to that question (yes, by the way. Jean believed this brought his score up. Jean Kirschtein 3 ; Universe 0 ) and the rest of his mother’s prodding with formal politeness and a smile. After giving Jean an approving nod, she asked her final question, “What time are your parents picking you up?” Now caught off guard, Marco’s eyes scanned the room, looking for the clock. His mouth formed a wide ‘O’ before he stated, “15 minutes.”

                Nonetheless, it was followed by a loud, “What?” exclaimed by Jean, and a chuckle from the mother. Jean and Marco quickly tried to get one more game of bowling in, they succeeded and Marco’s mother knocked on the door just as Jean got his first win of the day. In all honesty he felt that Marco threw the game, but still, a win is a win. The two boys ran to the kitchen, Marco to gather up his stuff and Jean to help.

                As Jean shoved Marco’s binder into his backpack, he snuck a glance to the entry way. One thing the two boys had a lot in common was that they got a lot of their looks from their mothers. Despite her graying hair, Jean’s mother had nearly the same hair as him. Easily sun-bleached by the desert sun, her roots were always darker than the rest of her hair. Even their skin reacted to the sun identically, slight tan, then burn. There is no in between. Jean doesn’t remember what his father looks like, but he assumed he has his father’s eyes.

                Marco’s mother on the other hand had dark hair (dyed to keep the gray out? Jean couldn’t tell.) And large round eyes that were almost as dark brown as her hair. From where he was, Jean could see she didn’t have any freckles, but the curve of her smile was almost a carbon copy of Marco’s.  She was petite, and was towered over by his own mother. Jean could only hope he could be as tall as his mother one day, who was tall and large boned, providing for a solid frame.

                But that was when the rejoiced ‘mother talk’ began. They look in their eyes gave both the boys a rough estimate of an extra hour. As if on cue, the two women walked over to the couch, coffee was offered, coffee was made, and the in depth conversation began. “MOM. We’re going outside.” Jean called, and ran out of the house with Marco in tow before the mothers could even motion them off.

                It was a short walk from Jean’s house to Night Vale Elementary’s playground. Despite the fact they were now ‘so mature one teen and one almost teen’, they couldn’t deny that it was still fun to hang out on the playground after school hours, and on the walk there they both admitted to having done it a few times this school year already. Despite the feeling Jean got of a ball of energy being trapped inside him (he blamed the video games for getting him worked up), he opted to sit with Marco on the swings.

                “Does your dad work later than your mother?” Marco questioned, looking like he was trying to decide if he should swing higher or just keep dangling. Jean just shifted on the seat, his toes just scraped along the ground having chosen one of the more elevated swings. “My dad didn’t come with us to Night Vale, I’m guessing he wasn’t there when my mom and I got…” Jean actually laughed, “ _dropped_ off in Night Vale.” He kept the smile on his face, despite the bitter thought ringing in the back of his head that, maybe, his dad wasn’t even around before Night Vale. Was it always just him and his mother? Did his dad just abandon them, or was he… Gone?

                Marco simply nodded, not pushing the subject, “I don’t have much alone time at home, like just to do stuff like this.” He said, changing the subject, and for that Jean was grateful. “I have two little siblings; they always want to hang around me. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em.” Marco said, his voice trailing off near the end, like he was thinking, “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind hanging out again, maybe you could even come over my house?”

                “Yeah. That sounds good.”  Jean chimed, happy with his newfound friend. The two of them continued talking, and after a few teasing remarks, Jean found himself chasing Marco around the playground while he called out, “I DIDN’T MEAN IT. YOU DON’T REALLY LOOK LIKE A HORSE.” He would then erupt with laughter before throwing in, “HORSE FACE.” Jean yelled back an assortment of scrambled nonsense, something involving how if he really wanted to call him Horse Face, Jean could have permission to call him something equally embarrassing, followed by a: “FRECKLES, GET BACK HERE.” But both grinned, happy to have someone’s company.

                They ended up racing each other back to Jean’s house. Marco had longer legs they brought allowed him to go farther with each step, but he didn’t have as much stamina as Jean, who bolted ahead while Marco slowed. He was going to just keep going and claim his victory, but decided to jog back to Marco. “You okay, Ma—“ Jean started when he approached Marco, but the next thing he knew… Marco, saintly, never-cheat-ever Marco, started running with a new found energy. “CHEAT.” Jean screeched before attempted to catch up. Jean lost. Jean pouted. Jean got patted on the back told that it was just “Strategy.”

                “Strategy my ass I still call cheating.”  
                “Then it makes up for earlier. Tennis.”

                Jean scoffed, giving Marco a gentle shove before crossing his arms in defeat. They sat down on the porch, just catching their breath and Jean enjoying the company of his new (best?) friend. When Marco’s mother came out and told Marco it was time to go home, Jean grabbed Marco’s backpack and brought it to his mom’s car. Marco had denied needing help, but Jean felt like doing something nice (for once). They waved as the car started to pull away from the sidewalk, and when it could no longer be seen, Jean went inside. He was kind of looking forward to school tomorrow.


	3. Street Cleaning Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's street cleaning day. Run. Forget your children and leave behind the weak.  
> Marco experiences his first Street Cleaning Day, luckily Jean is there to help him and his siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be updating this chapter after my 'editors' aka my friends Moo and Roast send me back what I sent them. Depends if they find anything to edit? Also slightly changed how I wrote stuff, I think it flows better now? (p.s. warning: cute little sisters hella)

 

                Jean woke up dazed, he was at Marco’s, right? Usually sleepovers at his house didn’t involve waking up near-around midnight. Sitting up, he could hear Marco stirring on the floor next to him, “… Jean? Jean, what’s the matter?” He mumbled, lazily stretching an arm above his head as he stretched the sleepiness away. Jean stayed silent, he could hear that creepy radio-personality’s voice wafting in through the door: “…ay is Street Cleaning D… Please, remain calm… --UN.  FORGET YOUR CHILDREN AND LEAVE BEHIN…” He could only pick up half of the broadcast, but it was enough, “Marco get up, find your siblings and get them into the basement.” Jean gulped, he put his face in his hands for a moment. His stomach suddenly felt empty and there was a bitter taste in his mouth. “Jean what a—“

                “Listen to me, Marco!” Jean snapped as he ran through his mind, when was the last street cleaning day? Had Marco ever experienced one? No… It’s been a while. Marco’s parents were really swell people, but he knew they were probably already in the adult’s shelter, where they waited out the day with a bottle of booze and a pack of cigarettes. If the lot of them had any chance at surviving, it was on Jean’s shoulders. Marco was on his feet already, running to his little sibling’s room. Good, god, at least he was listening. Pulling himself back together, Jean managed to lift himself to his feet. The first thing he did was walk briskly to the kitchen, he grabbed all the non-perishable food stuffs he could find in thirty seconds and shoved them into a plastic shopping bag. He tossed a few water bottles in for good measure, and began to make his way to the basement, where he saw two little heads being ushered in by a lanky fifteen year old.

                Before following them in, he grabbed a handful of those pre-packaged icing covered animal cookies, a flashlight, and some batteries. He figured the cookies would keep the kids quiet, and the flashlight would allow them to keep the lights off to make it look like they weren’t home. Maybe the street cleaners would pass by them. Jean stopped just before the door, though. He could hear Marco whispering to come down, but Jean thought he should grab one last thing. Putting the bag at the top of the steps, he ran into the living room. He could have sworn he heard… There is was. He scooped up the radio, but as he walked past the large bay window, he saw it. The first street cleaner of the day.  Jean ducked down, the headlights filling the living room. Jean’s heart was in his throat, and he could feel it beating at a hundred miles an hour to get out. Was this going to be the end of him? Running into living room for a fucking radio. “Yeah, real fucking smooth, Kirschtein…” He grumbled, he was terrified, but still had the attitude of a scorpion that doesn’t realize it is in very real danger of being stepped on by a shoe. Or in this case, a street cleaner.

                The lights did eventually pass, and the engine could be heard rumbling past the house. The two-toned teen proceeded to take a large breath, and then bolt for the basement. He burst through the doors, his chest heaving and adrenaline pumping. If Marco hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have tumbled down the stairs. In a moment of terribly misplaced emotions and ‘this-is-not-the-fucking-time’ he couldn’t help but be a bit… Hyperaware of Marco’s hand on his chest, steadying him. Passing off his reddening cheeks as exertion, Jean straightened himself (both figuratively and literally) and handed the radio to Marco. “I thought we might need this.” He stated, itching at his chin for emphasis on how nonchalant he was trying to be.

                But Marco’s face pulled him back down to reality; this was a time to be scared. Marco looked terrified, and it looked like he was just letting out a breath. “Don’t ever do that again. I also want you to tell me what is going on.” Marco looked nervously down the steps, “Here, though, I don’t want Christa and Mina to hear…” Jean wished he could see the details of Marco’s face better in the inky darkness. He could only make out his general features, the way his eyebrows furrowed together, or how his mouth hung slightly open. But he couldn’t see the crease from where his eye brows came together, or whether Marco’s mouth was doing that twitching thing it did when he was nervous or scared. Jean just assumed they were there, though, and cleared his throat. Once again, that’s not what was important.

                “You’ve heard of Street Cleaning Day, right?” Jean asked, he could barely make out a nod from Marco, “Probably not much though, people don’t like talking about it. Basically, we’re scared for our lives right now.” For a moment, neither of them breathed. They just stared at each other, their eyes adjusting to the dark. “Let’s help your sisters.” Jean sniffed then turned to head down the stairs, but he felt a hand close around his arm. _Oh god right now is not time for some conf—_ “Jean, thank you for helping us.” Was all the brunette said before letting go and joining Jean down the stairs.  Jean shivered, it was going to be a long day.

                They got downstairs to the girls as quickly as they could. Christa and Mina were holding hands, “Dun’ worry Christa, it’ll be fine.” Mina kept cooing, gently running her fingers through her sister’s fair hair. The two looked nothing alike, Mina looking like a miniature Mrs. Bodt to a ‘T’, and Christa had a lot of her mother’s features, but her hair was the lightest shade of blonde like her father’s, and eyes just as blue.  “Okay you twerps.” Jean started, giving Marco a side glance, including him. “There’s a… Er… Problem going on outside, so we’re gonna stay here for a while. Got it?” The two little girls nodded silently. Accepting this affirmation, Jean sat down next to them, and surprisingly, Marco sat down on his other side.

                It wasn’t long before the complaining started. “Brooooother, I’m cold.” Mina whined, bringing her tiny six year old arms around herself to emphasize her point. Christa was silent, but nodded her head in agreement. Jean was sighing and huffing and puffing, while Marco was already on his feet, heading to the far end of the mostly-empty basement. He approached a laundry bin and pulled out some blankets. Shrugging, he grabbed a few pillows, too. He looked normal, but Jean could see his legs trembling just a bit. His arms weren’t very still either, but Jean wouldn’t mention it. Jean watched his best friend take a deep breath before walking back to the concrete wall, handing a pillow and blanket to each of them with a tight smile. “Awwh yis.” Mina silently celebrated, situating herself so she was wrapped up in the blanket and her head rested on the pillow, “Nap time.”

                Christa was much more careful, despite being almost two years younger than Mina. She laid out the blanket so it was flat on the floor, placed her pillow near the edge, and then folded the blanket so it covered her snuggly. Jean never got tired of how Marco’s family just… Functioned. It was a nice change of pace, normally being alone. He just wished he could be having this moment while not fearing for his life as street cleaners terrorized the streets of Night Vale. They couldn’t hear the screams of said terror yet, but it was still early.

                “Jean, take your stuff.” The voice spoken was trembling, and Jean could immediately feel his heart ache. Ugh, he hated this friends thing sometimes. Feelings. Nonetheless, he took the items from Marco without getting up. He situated himself to be sitting against the wall, blanket over his lap. Yeah, definitely much better than before. The blanket was just thick enough to lock out the dankness of the basement while keeping his feet toasty. For a moment, his face slipped out of its confused/concerned state, and into a more relaxed one. Maybe they could get through this okay. Jean shook his head with a slight smile, they would all be okay. The peace didn’t last long though. Marco had to be fucking saint, a martyr really. He sat back down next to Jean without a supremely comfy blanket or pillow. He was about to say something but Marco, God damnit, flashed him a toothy grin, “It’s fine Jean, there wasn’t enough and I’m not cold at all.” Bullshit.  Jean had a moment of compassion and kindness (he wished he could say he had more of those, but really, they were quite rare. Unless it involved a certain freckled fellow) and haphazardly threw half of his blanket across Marco, and slid his pillow over so they could share. They both ignored the red creeping onto their faces as the brunette gingerly laid his head back on the pillow and adjusted the blanket. “Thanks.”

                “Hmph.”

                They all slept soundly for a while, until a scream rang though the neighborhood. Christa began crying, and Marco clung to Jean for a moment, his hand firmly gripping the material of Jean’s night shirt, before going over to his sister. She didn’t say anything in her cries, she just wailed for a while. Jean was nervous, not only for the fact that there was an adorable upset little girl in the room and he couldn’t do much but watch his friend handle the situation, but also because she could attract _them._ As if on cue, the music, that could barely be heard in the distance, became louder and louder. It was La Bamba, only faster. It should have been hilarious, but it was terrifying.

                Jean scurried up, half crawling over to where Marco was. He turned him by the shoulder and got as close as he could, “You’ve got to get her to stop _they can hear her.”_ He whispered, his voice panicked. The fact that Jean was panicking was enough to kick Marco into high gear. Jean had lived through one of these before. Jean knew what was going on. “Hey, Christa, plum.” Marco cooed, leaning against the wall once Jean let him go and pulling Christa into his lap. He started braiding her hair and talking to her calmly. Honestly, if she didn’t look so vulnerable, Jean would have clamped his hand over her mouth already. Instead he looked over to Mina, who was unusually silent. She was staring at the floor, eyes wide. Jean knew she wasn’t stupid, and was old enough to be able to grip what was going on. With a sigh, Jean squatted next to her, and lifted her chin. “Head up, solider. You’re the leading lady here, now. Being the oldest and all, gotta set a good example.” He was frank with her, but in a way that he hoped _helped._

                Mina looked up, then, right at Jean. Her eyes went even wider, before settling down to their normal size. She nodded vigorously, before turning to Christa, who was just releasing hushed sobs now. Mina was acting as normal as she possibly could while encouraging Christa. “Hey, remember that episode of Pokémon? The one when Ash b—“ Before Mina could finish, Christa was tumbling out of Marco’s arms and sitting on her knees in front of Mina, “I remember all the P-Pokémon.”  She stated eagerly, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes.  As the two continued talking about Pokémon in hushed whispers, the La Bamba faded away. Marco gave an over exaggerated sigh, genuinely smiling for the first time that morning. Without thinking, he leaned against his friend, “What a relief, huh?” he breathed out.  Jean let out a string of mumbles in accordance, he could feel his heart in his throat again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. This time it was from how Marco’s shoulder felt against his, the way his hair was touched Jean’s cheek, and how he could just slightly feel the tiny huffs of breath against his neck. Feeling Marco’s breathes steady, Jean leaned against the wall and pulled a blanket over them, letting Marco fall asleep. He figured the brunette must be scared witless, having never experienced a Street Cleaning Day before. He wanted Marco to sleep through as much of it as he could.

                Jean stayed up to listen to the radio, at the moment there was nothing about the Street Cleaning on. Rather one of his and Marco’s favorite wheat and white by-products speakeasies was busted. Guess they were never having pizza again. Well, if they lived, that is. “His storefront seemed to be the model of a wheat-free and wheat by-product-free society.  But even the most honest businesses can turn to crime when their livelihood is on the line. Fortunately for Big Rico, he is a very nice person, and apologized…” Jean sighed, he wanted to turn the radio off, but he didn’t want to risk missing any news about the current situation. Also, waking Marco up from the current situation would be a shame. With that thought, he pressed Marco a little closer to his side. Instead of pushing away or fidgeting, he simply looped his arm around Jean’s waist. Jean tried to stop thinking about the blood rushing to his face by watching what Mina and Christa were up to.

                They had gotten into the food. But that’s okay, Jean actually cracked a smile and whispered, “Hey girls! Toss over one of those animal cookie packs.” Holding up his free arm, he grabbed it when Mina (the little brat) chucked it at his open palm. Luckily, Marco was out cold and even Jean rustling the bag between his teeth and fingers didn’t wake him up. Ignoring the screams coming from outside, Jean continued listening to the radio while munching on his cookies and watching the girls make shadow puppets using the flashlight. Maybe it was just because he wasn’t alone, but this street cleaning day wasn’t actually that bad. Jean was used to hiding under his bed all alone while listening to the screams outside. He smiled to himself, he had become quite the expert, though. Who other than him, the great Street Cleaning Day expert Jean, would think to grab those damn tasty icing animal cookies? No one, that’s who.

                When he had finished his snack, he motioned over to the girls to join him. They brought their flashlight, and proceeded to show Jean all the different animals they could make. Jean would grunt his approval, smirking every once in a while, or straight up correcting them. “No no no, you put your fingers like this when making a dog, sheesh.” He scoffed out, moving Mina’s fingers to make a proper dog ear. He realized his tone might have been a little harsh, so he frowned and ruffled her hair, “Don’t over think it.”

                Nonetheless, when the girls got bored, they decided to figure out what the most comfortable place to sleep on Jean was. So after combining their resources of pillows and blankets, Jean had a Marco clinging to his left, a Mina to his right, and Christa curled up on his legs. He would be lucky if he managed to fall asleep again. (Apparently he was a _very_ lucky bastard, for he fell asleep nearly immediately, silently praying that there wouldn’t be any more ill-timed screams waking them up.)

                “We ret—“ Jean could feel his eyes lazily peel open as a calm voice filtered out of the radio. “--ou now to a safe place.  The street cleaners have passed.  Street Cleaning Day, as so many other days, is behind us…” Jean was suddenly awake and he started shaking small children off of him. He turned to Marco, hesitant to wake him. He took the tanned face in his hand, too many days in the sun, and ran his thumb along it. He could feel something bubble up in his chest, he wasn’t going to deny it. But he didn’t know quite what it was, “Yo, lazy ass, wake up.” He called as he took his hand off of Marco’s face. “Nmm… Marco… Marco is fine. Call me Marco.” He muttered in response as he wiped the sleepies from his eyes. Blinking a few times, he looked right ahead at Jean, “Did I really sleep through most of that?” He questioned, his face absolutely astonished.

                “Yeah you dork, come on, let’s go to Mission Grove Park.” Jean reached over and disheveled Marco’s already bed-head. Slapping his arms away the brunette laughed, and by the time the two of them were finished standing up and being functioning humans, they realized the girls had rushed ahead of them. But the moment was so surreal, they weren’t worried at all. The helicopters only rarely took children, and they doubted they would take any on such a joyous occasion. After Jean grabbed an extra pack of animal cookies and tossed them to Marco, the two of them walked out of the house. They weren’t even halfway to the park by the time they started humming, Jean’s face was still set in a scowl, but his eyes were alive reflecting in the honey-light. For a split moment, Marco could have sworn his friend looked more than platonically attractive. But of course that was hoshposh, and he just laughed as Jean swung his arm around Marco’s shoulder. In their never ending height-race, Jean currently had two inches over Marco, and rubbed it in his face with such actions whenever he could. But at that moment, happy to be alive and breathing in the air of the ending day, it was simply comfortable. They walked like this all the way to Mission Grove Park, where they joined the other kids from their school and neighbors, laughing and smiling. Jean was even exchanging a joke with Eren Jaeger of all people. But his arm never left Marco.

                “Hey, Jean?”

                “Yeah?”

                “I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you.”

                “… Me too, Marco. Me too.”


End file.
